


Anything Else Would Be Too Bitter

by number_of_the_beast_is_666



Series: Musketeer March 2021 [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Milady's hanging, Set during Athos' intro in the first episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29862624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/number_of_the_beast_is_666/pseuds/number_of_the_beast_is_666
Summary: Musketeer March 2021 Day 5: AthosAthos' thoughts during his introduction scene in Ep 1 Season 1Title from "The Leavetaking" by Bentolt Brecht
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay & Athos | Comte de la Fère, Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon, Athos | Comte de la Fère & Treville, Athos | Comte de la Fère/Milady Clarick de Winter
Series: Musketeer March 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189571
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Anything Else Would Be Too Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any mistakes.

The sunlight spills into the room like wines spill out of a cracked barrel, leaking through the gaps between the shutters and the frame, the thin lines of light burning themselves onto the back of Athos’ eyelids as he closes his eyes against the morning sun.

It’s his wake up call; up with the sun and then to his duties, nevermind his spinning head and shaking hands.

His captain wouldn’t like him to show up in this state, but Athos is neither drunk nor sick so he will not be stopped. Unless he makes a mistake, but he knows he will not.

Maybe today will be the day that his pride in his abilities as a soldier will catch up to him, his insistence on doing today’s duties himself. his need to make himself useful the only way he’s sure of anymore. Maybe today he will make a mistake.

Maybe today will have him hang for his mistakes, a fitting end of a noose for Athos, the worst part of Olivier de la F è re, disappearing to the same rope he came from.

Maybe today he’ll make a mistake, a mistake that sends him back to Anne’s side, nevermind his lying mouth and harming hands.

The pain in his knuckles from punching through the ice in the water bucket fades away in a burst of shocking cold as he dunks his head in the water bucket.

It seems to quench the fire he already had in his head, but leaves a deep ache there, the high pressure pain that the frigid air of a Parisian winter night leaves.

It quietens the insect-buzz of his thoughts though, those flickering and swarming like the insides of a bee’s nest, allows him to think about his day ahead and not get pulled into the wearisome memories of her and an unrecognizable version of himself.

He goes about his routine with the same lethargy that has been with him since he awoke, a few half-hearted stretches with how legs and sword arm, chasing away the stiffness in his joints from his unforgiving age.

A look in the polished mirror above his dresser confirms how unrecognizable he is now.

He moves away quickly, not knowing why it’s so difficult to look away, and dressing with the unhurried, sure pace of a practised hand.

This feels like a form of worship; every layer, every fastening, and every string, done up in routine order, a Musketeer’s protection against the world.    
Or he wonders if it’s just him who has faith in the way Porthos prays to  _ something,  _ God or king or country, whatever that may be, when he kisses his weapon before a fight, or feels safer when Aramis checks his brothers-in-arms more than anyone else for no other reason than to show he cares.   
In the way that Treville always lingers for a second longer than anyone else when they send off a group of Musketeers for a mission, always concerned for them.

That thought warms the icy ache in his head to a manageable hurt, no worse than a sore neck, a background pain in his tense body.

He’s not… Alright. But he thinks maybe he could be someday, as he heads into the already bustling garrison courtyard, maybe he could be love someone like he once loved Anne, maybe he could be honest with someone, and not have to live with the weight of a bloody past looming over him like the noose hanging above the guilty man’s head.


End file.
